


Sentiment

by PhenixFleur



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bad Decisions, Being human kinda sucks, Bill's a snarky asshole, Human bill, It sucks a lot, M/M, Mabel is awesome and supportive, Magic, Near Death Experiences, Teenage Bill, more tags incoming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After encountering Dipper knocking on Death's door in the woods, Bill opts to save him free of charge - a decision that has rather serious consequences for both of them. Eventual BillDip, age-balanced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely a work in progress. This is my first time writing for Gravity Falls, so if I'm butchering anyone's personality please let me know.

He falls like a star, hurtling across the dark velvet sky in a brief flare of luminescence, steadily dimming as it disappears beneath the canopy of evergreens. Tonight HE is the Shooting Star, if only in form and not name.

He’s lucky, as usual, that some of the branches break his fall as he descends, preventing him from being killed instantly the moment he hits the ground with a dull thud that silences the crickets and their mournful midsummer symphony. Thankfully he’s already unconscious, although the blinding pain of broken ribs and fractured limbs would have taken care if that, anyway. It’s too bad; the small clearing in which he’s chosen to burn out is rather pretty, carpeted with a fine dusting of pine needles (equally fitting) and ringed by flowers with tiny pale petals and waxy leaves. Fireflies drift lazily through the evening air in a somber procession, and even the resumed cricketsong now holds a faint note of sorrow. It’s as if the woods know the new arrival is fading, the pine boughs bowing their heads for one of their own laid low.

The silence that soon follows is neither gradual nor gentle; the world grinds to a halt much like the flipping of a switch, accompanied by the vibrant colors of the woods fading to a myriad shades of grey. The crickets cease their chatter and the fireflies, deprived of their fire, vanish into the darkness. Any lurking beasts waiting among the shadows withdraw, seeking prey that isn’t already marked by a hunter they have no desire to challenge.

An entity shimmers into existence in the middle of the clearing, hovering over the crumpled body lying prone before him (oh, so much like a discarded puppet with muddy strings) while appraising his discovery with an approving eye. He’d consider it a godsend, if the idea wasn’t so laughable.

"Oh Pine Tree," Bill chuckles softly to himself, "What have you done now?


	2. Prologue: Fading

"Wow, kid, you’ve really done a number on yourself." More than likely it’s something else’s handiwork, if the deep claw marks in Pine Tree’s back are any indication. "Guess that’s what happens when you poke around where you’re not wanted, huh?"

Dipper doesn’t respond, currently occupied with drawing quick, shallow breaths that are surprisingly loud against the backdrop of nothingness, and being very thoroughly unconscious. It’s a shame, because if heweren’t he’d likely be making any number of endearing little noises. Wounded creatures are fascinating, simmering with fear and anxiety, and their minds are so pliant that they’re essentially playgrounds for the discerning dream demon. Bill hasn’t gotten to cavort around wearing some meatbag’s body in quite some time (not since Pine Tree), but pain’s hilarious no matter what the circumstances are. 

An experimental poke at Pine Tree’s side with his cane yields no results, no flinching or even the slightest twist of the boy’s slack features. “Oh, come on, it’s no fun talking to myself. Wake up.” 

Dipper continues to not respond, which is just a little irritating, but if anyone’s patient in the face of obstinacy it’s Bill Cipher. He pokes him in the ribs again, a bit more forcefully, and this time Dipper  _does_ respond, if coughing up blood counts as a response. “Huh. That’s not good.”

Human bodies and how they function are a mystery in practice, not theory. Bill’s never bothered using a vessel long enough to fully understand what makes them tick, although the practical knowledge isn’t difficult to assess. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, broken arm, etc. What is of interest is the rapidly hammering of the heart whose vibrations he can feel within the boy’s chest. “Your spark is fading, Pine Tree.” The kid’s on his way out, alone in the woods with only the moon as his witness.  _Disappointing_. 

"Ah, you humans are so fragile in the physical world," Bill sighs, tracing a triangle over his fallen Pine Tree’s heart with a note of discontent in his voice. "One run-in with a harpy and it’s over." 

For a moment he considers taking a peek at Dipper’s mindscape. What do humans think of, as their lights burn out? Do they think at all? It’s something he’s never bothered to explore. As interesting as the experiment could be, he’s not at all sure the kid can handle any interference without knocking off completely. It really is a shame. Of all the worthless and short-lived humans he’s dealt with thus far the kid’s one of the most interesting, between his (clearly self-destructive) obsession with the paranormal, a spirit nearly impossible to crush…the dream demon’s been looking forward to crushing it himself as an act of vengeance. Curse whatever got to him first. “Well…I guess you’re not up for making any deals right now. I could do you a favor, but that’s not really my style.”

And yet he’s not sure he’s really willing to let Pine Tree off the hook so easily. Mending a human body is small stuff. Doing something out of the kindness of a heart he doesn’t physically have is an entirely different story. Weaving ethereal strings into the kid’s soul would be more than enough of a reward for saving his life, but where’s the fun in that? 

It’s a split second decision, his hand still pressed against the boy’s heart. Bill  _really_  wishes he was conscious to see this, his life physically in the hands of a being of immense power with the ability to snuff it out at will. “You know, you’re lucky I kinda like you, Pine Tree. Consider it a freebie.” 

Dipper’s eyes flutter open involuntarily, the same vivid blue of the flames that surround engulf Bill’s hand and flow into the boy’s chest. Bones shift into position, the hole in his collapsed lung patching itself and the blood filling it returning to the damaged veins it flowed out of. The claw marks knit themselves shut, leaving only deep pink scars as evidence.  _That’s_  the easy part. Somewhat more taxing is reaching out for that spark, his lifeforce, his soul, whatever term humans have for it these days. That little flame of life growing dimmer with every passing second. “Come on, Pine Tree…if I wanted you dead, I’d kill you myself.” He cradles it in his hands with the delicacy of one dedicated to creation instead of destruction, infusing it with his own lifeforce. In truth, it’s far more effort than he’s ever expended to recover a human life. Pine Tree owes him, he really does.

The spark that is Dipper flares a little more brightly, responding readily to him. “That’s it. You’re not allowed to die on me. Not yet.” 

Dipper takes a deep breath, his heart rate slowing to a much more steady thud. The noise that escapes his lips is a soft, peaceful sigh. Bill stops short of mending his broken arm. That’s learning experience. It’ll also keep the kid out of his proverbial hair for awhile. The flames recede, leaving a small triangular scar directly over his heart. 

"DIPPER!" Shooting Star’s voice rings out from somewhere within the woods, accompanied by the others. There are other voices, too — apparently Pine Tree has an entire search party combing the woods for him.

"And that’s my cue. So long, kid." He can’t resist jabbing the boy in the arm before making himself scarce, grinning at the resulting grimace on Pine Tree’s face. 

Almost instantaneously the clearing returns to normal, although the wildlife doesn’t make a reappearance until long after the search party discovers Dipper (it takes them a good half hour to do so, because humans are stupid) and carries him off in a burst of disruptive noise, Shooting Star sobbing with relief. Once they’re gone, a lone shadow slinks from the border of the clearing and sniffs futilely at the spot where its prey had once lain. From somewhere above, nestled in the branches of a tree, Bill watches, as usual. The fact that he could’ve easily converted Pine Tree into an  _actual_  puppet without even having to trade for it. Perhaps he’s getting soft, succumbing to what could only be a passing moment of sentiment.

The wolf below lets out a high-pitched squeal of fright as its heart explodes in its chest and its bones disintegrate, collapsing atop the pine needles in a limp heap of fur. 

That’s better. 


	3. Prologue: Floating

Everything is soft and fuzzy, muted, the atmosphere thick around him like a blanket of dark fur, enveloping his — body? it doesn’t feel like his body. There’s a sensation of emptiness, a feeling of being  _incomplete_  somehow, and it’s terrifying and sickening so he doesn’t think about it too much, or at all. Bobbing along in a sea of dark fur, further and further, towards a horizon of nothingness.

Away from the  _pain_ , because that’s all that lies in the other direction. Unbearable, unending pain searing the — flesh? — from his body. It’s far better to drift away, carried along atop the gentle waves bearing him towards a place where it doesn’t hurt anymore. 

Dipper’s almost certain he’s forgetting something, so he doesn’t think about that, either. 

Drifting away peacefully on a dark, dark sea. 

And then everything goes to hell. 

The the vast sky above is illuminated by a stark, unnatural blue light, revealing the dismal scenery around him. The sea of fur is the consistency of tar, and jagged formations of either rock or crystal are scattered in an arbitrary fashion. Once welcoming and now intimidating, the waves grip at his legs, as if to tug him beneath the surface. 

**"No. Not yet."**

The command (for it is a command, not a request) is issued from within, the words blossoming inside his skull, spoken by a voice that echoes in a familiar manner. Very familiar. 

**"You’re not allowed to die."**

Dying? Is he dying?

**"What does it look like? A pleasant day at the beach?"**

Not really.

**"Then stop screwing around and _swim._ ”** 

The voice in his head sounds like a real jerk, but it has a point. Where the waves once seemed comforting, he now feels nothing but dread looking at them, and it’s a struggle to stay afloat. 

**"Come on, kid. Fight it. Giving up isn’t your style."**

This proves to be a trying endeavor — the sea is now actively trying to drown him, and he’s flailing in the water as if the knowledge of how to swim has been torn from him. He knows how to swim. Swimming isn’t hard. 

_She learned how to swim first, remember?_

This time the thought isn’t the work of the voice pushing him but his own, followed by a stray memory of a hand that looks exactly like his leading him into cool water with words of encouragement.

_You were afraid at first._  

Another voice, alternately grating and soothing, whispering words of encouragement. 

_You have to stay calm or you’re gonna sink. Oh my gosh, what if you sink but instead of drowning you’re abducted by merpeople and I have to come rescue you and meet a really cute merprince and it’s love at first sight and I have to choose between returning to the land or marrying him and becoming a merprincess?_

_…what? This is a public swimming pool._

_Details._

_And I don’t see how fantasizing about becoming a mermaid-_

_Merprincess! And this is a tough decision, Dipper! You’re supposed to help me with these kinds of problems._

_Highly improbable ones? Also what happens to me in this scenario?_

_Oh yeah. We’ll give you a job in the palace or something._

_Seriously?_

Another hand that fits perfectly into his, pulling him into a hug.

_No, you dummy. You can be the grand vizzer._

_Vizier?_

_Yeah, that._

The knowledge slowly filters back into his head, mixed with things that have nothing to with swimming but drive him to fight the current all the same. The feeling of being incomplete fades away, making the going so much easier. 

**"That’s it, Pine Tree."**

Spurred on by the voice that makes him want to cringe and the stream of chatter whirling around in his head, he forces his way through the tumultuous sea, heading towards one of the larger blue crystal formations. The shade of blue is also familiar, but not worth focusing on. The closer he gets, the easier it is to think, clarity sweeping the fear and apathy away and out of sight. 

**"You can do it, kid."**

_I believe in you, bro-bro._

His hand brushes against the crystal, gripping at its surface, boiling hot against his palm and tearing a choked scream from his lips, blue flames arcing up through his hand and around his arm and gripping his heart in an agonizing vice. 

Then nothing. 

 

-

 

The faint sound of beeping and the feeling of something warm pressed against his body on both sides welcome Dipper back to consciousness. The first thing he’s aware of is how much his right arm hurts. It’s stiff and unresponsive, and a brief glance over at the limb once his vision clears reveals a thick white cast already covered in glitter stickers and doodles. It can only be the handiwork of his much more hyperactive other half, curled up next to him in the hospital bed, passed out and drooling just a bit on the pillow.

On the other side is Waddles, happily munching away at the other side of the pillow. 

Dipper isn’t entirely sure how Mabel’s managed to sneak a pig into a hospital, but it’s by far not the strangest thing that’s ever happened. 

"…Dipper? Are you awake?" Mabel’s sleepy voice holds a note of desperation, as if her heart’s going to break if the answer is no. 

His throat is too parched to respond, and also there’s a tube down it that he somehow didn’t notice before, but he does manage to turn to look at his twin, nodding slightly. 

The way his sister’s face lights up is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, and then she’s hugging him, careful to avoid his broken arm at least, crying into his hair while Waddles squeals joyfully into his ear. 

"Please don’t leave me alone again, okay?" 

_Okay._


	4. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! I hope I'm still doing the characters justice. : )

"You sure you don't want any of this?" 

The inquiry is directed towards a cup of dubious looking green Jello left over from Dipper's lunch. Most of the hospital fare is questionable, but the variety of lurid shades the Jello comes in is downright disturbing. Mabel's far less discerning than he is so Dipper lets her have all of his lumpy pudding and Technicolor gelatin. He's not that hungry, anyway. "Yeah...that's okay. It's all yours." 

"Score!" Mabel snatches up the cup gleefully, tucking into it with more enthusiasm than hospital Jello deserves. Dipper can't help but smile. 

Thus far his hospital stay hasn't been too bad, despite the obnoxious headache and nausea denoting the concussion he's been diagnosed with (in addition to the broken arm and various cuts and bruises lining his arms and legs.) It  _is_  nice to be fussed over, however, as well as serving as a reminder that his family (including Soos and Wendy, who might as well be considered family after everything they've been through) really does care about him regardless of the fairly constant ribbing at his expense. He knows this already, especially after their experiences in the Dreamscape, but the confirmation is appreciated.

Soos is an invaluable source of actual food (junk food), Wendy brings an endless stream of gossip delivered with her usual sarcasm and biting commentary, and Grunkle Stan reliably falls asleep in the chair beside him after complaining about the state of healthcare in America, and Waddles (who Mabel continually manages to sneak into his room behind the staff's back) eats whatever Mabel  _doesn't_  eat. Dipper's actually a little surprised at how much time they spend with him, given that it's two days of the Mystery Shack being closed. It makes Stan's snoring all the more valuable. 

Given the circumstances, the staff makes a special exception for Mabel, allowing her to stay beyond visiting hours. Dipper is eternally grateful for it; he doesn't know how to vocalize it, but it's hard to sleep without his twin breathing in his near vicinity, especially in a strange place. Mabel's constant presence is comforting, especially given that she's the only one he feels comfortable being  _completely_  honest with. 

"You never told me what happened out there," Mabel says, finishing up her snack and moving the tray off to the side before flopping over on her back at the foot of the bed. 

Dipper sighs wearily. "That's just it. I can't remember anything past whatever attacked me the other night. And I lost the notes I had on me so I'm not even sure what I was looking for." At his request Mabel's brought the journal (which he keeps safely tucked behind his pillow whenever the nurse comes around for his vitals or bearing another meal), but it holds no additional clues to what happened to him out in the woods. 

"Oh my gosh, you've got amnesia!" Mabel declares, sitting upright. 

"It's not amnesia," Dipper rolls his eyes, but his sister's on a roll, clasping her hands together mournfully. 

"This is like a soap opera! You'll spend years seeking your lost memories in the eyes of strangers you pass in the street." Mabel lets out a soft, dramatic sigh. "Like ships that gently float past each other in the night..."

"It's not amnesia!" Dipper groans. "And I'm going to tell Grunkle Stan you've been reading his vintage harlequin romance novels again." 

"You're not supposed to know about them either, Dip-Dip." The twins exchange a look before dissolving into a a shared fit of laughter. Mabel rolls over again, staring up at the ceiling as the laughter subsides. When she speaks again her voice is uncharacteristically sad. "I was really worried when we couldn't find you."

"I'm sorry." The guilt of having terrified his sister so badly hasn't worn away completely, even though Dipper knows she's forgiven him if she was ever even mad in the first place. 

"It's okay. I'm just..." Mabel trails off, fumbling for the words for once. "I'm not..." 

"I know." Dipper reaches out with his good hand and she takes it, grasping it tightly with her own. The best thing about having a twin is that sometimes the proper words don't even need to be said. "Me too."

They sit in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Mabel pipes up again. "The doctor said you were really lucky to get off with just a broken arm and a concussion, especially with how tall that tree was."

"Did I really just fall out of a tree?" Dipper asks, skeptically. Even though he can't remember anything beyond a shadow slipping out from within the trees and a sharp pain in his back, the connection between the accepted cause of his injuries and the reality don't match up.

"How else did you end up there?" 

"Whatever attacked me must have dropped me there or something. That doesn't make any sense though. There were claws." He shudders at the faint memory of that brief moment of blinding  _pain_ , a single blip in an already muddied soup of memories that don't form a complete picture. He remembers the pain, though. 

Mabel's eyes light up in recognition. "Oh! When we first brought you in one of the nurses noticed a big scar on your back, but it looked really old so they didn't worry about it." 

It's impossible for Dipper to take a look at his back with his arm immobilized, but he's sure he'd remember having a noticeably large scar there. "I didn't have that before."

Mabel frowns, chewing on her lower lip. "You didn't? It doesn't hurt or anything?"

"Nope."

" _That_  doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah." Dipper reaches for the journal, flipping through it anxiously. "I guess there could be some kind of creature with restorative abilities that found me after whatever ever got to me first left me there...but if my injuries are consistent with a fall..."

"Dipper." Mabel snatches the journal from him, snapping it shut. "Maybe you shouldn't worry about this one right now. Just focus on getting better. Whatever's out there can wait."

Dipper looks stricken at being deprived of what's starting to become somewhat of a security blanket, but the twinge of pain from his broken arm (indicating that the painkillers are wearing off) and the concerned expression on Mabel's face works to drive the point home. "I suppose I should give it a rest until this heals."

Mabel smiles gratefully, slipping the journal into her overnight bag. "Anyway they said you could go home the day after tomorrow, so we can talk about it then. Maybe you dropped the notes somewhere back at the shack."

"Maybe." His stupid arm is actively aching now, and Dipper flinches. "This is pretty inconvenient. For a lot of reasons."

Mabel's grateful smile shifts to a mischievous grin that belies her usual air of childishness. Dipper feels himself flush, suddenly realizing his implication. "Whatever you're thinking, no. That is not one of them."

"Whatever do you mean, little bro?" Mabel asks, innocently.

" _No._ " 


	5. gratitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback thus far. : )
> 
> Things will definitely pick up after this chapter. I should have added the slow burn tag, I think? Also, I probably failed to establish this before; Dipper and Mabel are slightly older in this; this isn't their first summer. Additionally they haven't dealt with their resident isosceles monster since then. 
> 
> ...he's always watching, though. ^_~

Having a broken arm is proving to be more inconvenient than Dipper initially thought it would be. 

The plaster cast he's sporting won't be replaced with a fiberglass upgrade until he and Mabel return to California, making bathing a frustrating and damn near impossible task. The material is also uncomfortable and heavier than he'd like, hindering any additional exploration for awhile and relegating him to hanging around the Shack most of the time. It means that the journal will have to wait, probably until next summer, and that's almost heartbreaking. 

There's also the fact that Mabel won't stop decorating it in the most lurid manner imaginable. 

This is a source of amusement to everyone  _except_  Dipper. 

Wendy grins as he makes his way over to the counter, sighing at the prospect of another day of monotony. "Nice fashion statement!" She greets him, her eyes alight with mirth. "I can definitely see that catching on."

Dipper's cast is a canvas of color, assorted doodles, stickers, and globs of glitter glue. There are even a few stick-on rhinestones that cling to the plaster despite his best efforts to pick them off. Mabel's reasoning (that a little color will cheer him up a bit, indicating that she has a poor understanding of what 'a little' entails) is flawed, because every time he looks at his arm he finds himself even more appreciative of the fact that it'll be replaced by a cast that doesn't serve as a red flag to every bully at school. 

"Whoever invented glitter glue is a menace to society," he mutters darkly, parking himself on the stool next to her. 

"Yeah...it's all over your cap. There's some in your hair, too." 

"A lot of it?" Dipper yanks his cap off his head, alarmed at the sheer amount of silver sparkle that dusts the floor when he shakes it. 

"Honestly?" Wendy leans back against the counter in a swish of red hair that's grown even longer in the last couple of years. "You kinda look like you're heading out for a night on the town."

Dipper blanches, reaching up with his good arm to brush frantically at his hair. "How did this even happen?"

Wendy laughs, but it's kind, softened by how she reaches over to run her hands through his hair in a way that still makes him blush, even after all this time. "C'mere." 

Even though he's a couple of years older now and the torch has never extinguished completely, it's the faint glow of an ember in the face of how their friendship has waxed into something he can't imagine living without. The movie nights have continued ever since their first summer in Gravity Falls, and Wendy's an invaluable presence in his paranormal escapades when she gets the chance to tag along. Dipper can only hope she continues to visit after going off to college after graduation, because summer at the Shack won't be the same without her. 

"Hey." 

Wendy pauses, wiping her hands on her jeans. "What's up? You doing okay?"

"...I'm sorry." Dipper looks over his shoulder at her, glum. "For worrying you guys."

"You've apologized like ten times already." Wendy smiles, ruffling his hair fondly. "You know we're still cool." 

Dipper acknowledges this with a nod, turning back to gaze at the rest of the room with its hokey displays and overpriced merchandise. It's a slow day, and there's only a single customer gazing at a rack of some knick knack or the other. "Wendy? Can I tell you something?"

"Is it something awkward?" She's only half-joking.

"For once, no," Dipper smiles himself at the reminder of how some of their conversations have gone in the past. "I haven't really told anyone but Mabel yet, but I don't think I fell out of a tree."

"I thought that sounded weird for you, too," Wendy says, contemplatively. 

Encouraged by her interest, Dipper presses on. "Something attacked me. I can't remember what or why I was even out there, but I know it stabbed...or clawed, whatever. I've got a scar that I didn't have before."

"Can I see?" The request colors Dipper's cheeks slightly once more, but curiosity is stronger than embarrassment; he nods. Wendy lifts the back of his shirt and immediately lets out a low whistle. "Whoa dude. That's pretty intense. Wanna see?"

Dipper hasn't had the chance to attempt the gymnastics needed to look at his back in the mirror with his cast. "Yeah, Mabel just told me about it." 

Wendy whips out her phone and snaps a picture, with a quick "Don't worry, I'll delete it later", and hands it to Dipper. The scar is as Mabel described -- three slashes, somewhat equidistant, but they're the faded pink of an old wound. Dipper's right, though -- this scar is a new addition. "If this just happened recently it would still be scabbed over right?"

"Actually..." Here Wendy sounds concerned. "There's no way something that big would have healed on its own. And that color means it probably was pretty deep. It would have needed stitches."

Dipper raises an eyebrow, impressed with her medical expertise. "You sound like you know a lot about this."

"With my dad?" Wendy scoffs. "I might as well be a registered nurse by now."

"So something out there really must have healed me," Dipper's tone is also colored with concern. "At least mostly."

"But what?" 

"I don't know. It's like there's a roadblock in my head where those memories should be. I tore up our room looking for any notes I might have taken and I didn't turn up anything there, either." Dipper sighs, handing Wendy her phone. "I just really hate not knowing what actually happened."

Wendy places a hand on his shoulder. "Well, you know one thing. You survived. Whatever went down that night, something or someone liked you enough to give you a hand. And you've got a pretty nifty battle scar out of it, too," she adds with a wink. 

"Yeah, I guess that is kinda awesome," Dipper admits. "The 'saving me' part. I have no idea what I'm going to tell Mom and Dad about the scar if they ever see it."

"You fought a bear. That's always a good one." The thought of Dipper, trapped in the temporary vortex of being an awkward, gangly teenager, fighting a bear is a funnier than it should be, given that most of the creatures they've encountered in the woods are far more lethal than a mere animal. "You should totally mention that the next time you ask a girl out. 'You wanna do something later? I fought a bear once.'" 

That particular scenario is even less likely, given that the very idea is more terrifying than actually fighting the aforementioned bear, but Dipper laughs anyway. 

Red hair brushes against his face as Wendy leaves her spot behind the counter and carefully pulls him into a rare hug. "This place would be really lame without you, you know?" 

Some of his anxiety melts away at the gesture, and Dipper leans into the embrace. The feeling is definitely mutual.

 

-

 

"So the secret to making a smore dog is to get the marshmallows all melted and oozy, like so." Soos lifts the stick he's holding in the fire to demonstrate the blackened husk of a marshmallow speared on the end. "Huh." 

Mabel chimes in, holding up her own stick of perfectly toasted marshmallows. "There's a thin line between oozy and blackened, and you need to straddle the line." She gestures towards Soos's example. "That is blackened. Thish is oozy," she continues, taking a bite out of one of her marshmallows. 

"That's not a real word," Dipper says offhandedly. 

"Details." Mabel goes on to pluck her marshmallows from the stick and folds them into one of the hot dog buns. "Then you put the oozy stuff in the bun, add chocolate, and top it off with a hot dog." She holds her creation aloft. "Smore dog!"

Wendy shakes her head. "Guys...that's really gross."

Soos shrugs, munching on his own smore dog. "It's all going to the same place," he says, patting his stomach. "Saves you a couple of steps."

Mabel's already working on another one, hands sticky with melted marshmallow. "Marshmallows make anything delicious!"

Wendy inspects the pack of hot dogs skeptically. "What kind of hot dogs are these?" The packaging is unfamiliar, and the hot dogs suspiciously a lighter shade than she's used to. 

"The premium kind!" Stan pipes up, holding his hands up defensively when Wendy fixes him with a disbelieving stare. "What? They're all the same thing anyway. Paying extra for fancy shmancy hot dogs is like paying attention to the expiration date. It's still good for another month or so!"

"Grunkle Stan, are these even meat?"

"Tastes like meat to me, but I've got some pretty low standards."

The five of them (and Waddles, tearing into an extra bag of marshmallows with gusto) are gathered around a campfire, spending some of their last moments together before the twins head home the following week. It's both bitter and soothing; the past few weeks of inactivity have been sheer torture, but Dipper still doesn't want to leave. In a way, Gravity Falls and its oddities and Stan, Soos and Wendy are more home than home is. Piedmont pales in comparison to his quirky summer vacation spot, where there are no monsters lurking in the lake or supposedly long extinct creatures hidden among the trees, where his interest in such things make him a target for being pushed into lockers and teased mercilessly in the cafeteria at lunch. If not for Mabel, school would be unbearable. 

He leans back against a thick log, gazing up at the sky full of more stars than he's ever seen in California, inhaling the smell of earth and pine, with a hint of smoke from the campfire. For the first time in a couple of weeks, he's genuinely happy.

Something, the shell of a sound, brushes against his ear and startles him out of his reverie. 

... _tree._

Dipper sits up straight, pressing his cast against his chest protectively. "Hello?" 

_Pine tree._  

This time the words are clearer; they're spoken with an empty voice he doesn't recognize. A gentle tug, little more than a nudge towards the tree line.  _Come._

Dipper glances back at his family, currently occupied with debating whether chicken-based hot dogs really count as hot dogs. This is probably a poor decision, he knows, but no one notices as he stands up and slips into the woods.

 

- 

 

The tugging sensation, of being attached to a lead, strengthens when he strays off course, fading in intensity when he moves in whatever direction he's being dragged in. His feet are moving of their own accord, for the most part; the words slipping into his head and calling to him remain but whispers, but they become more insistent the further he walks. 

His consciousness, and the part of him telling him to  _stop_ _,_ to head back, that ahead lies some kind of incomprehensible horror -- these have been folded up neatly and pushed to back of his mind. There's only the voice, the leash pulling him away from the voices he recognizes and into the shadows cast by the trees surrounding him. 

_Pine tree_. 

"Hello?" Dipper asks again; the words are strangely amplified in the deafening silence of this part of the woods. No ambient noises of wildlife, no crickets, no crackle of leaves and twigs beneath his feet. This realization causes him to stop short, the dread finally setting in and twisting his stomach into a knot. 

_Come. **Now.**_

Dipper takes a step back, actively resisting the tug now. "Not until you tell me who you are."

_Don't question me._

"No," Dipper says, shakily, continuing to back away, heading back in the direction of the campfire. A stray thought occurs to him, and he attempts to steady his voice as he speaks up, addressing the presence drawing him in. "What are you? Did you help me before?"

The voice does not respond, this time, and the feeling of being yanked forward fades away. Where he once felt terror there is now withdrawal. It's similar to the feeling of being incomplete that he felt...when? A headache is coming on, and Dipper presses his good hand to his forehead. "Thank you, whatever you did!" He calls out, unsure of what to say. Should he call it back? Ask it to identify itself again? The presence is dissipating, and the compulsion to reach out to it is strong. "I...I'm..."

"Dipper!" Mabel's voice rings out, followed by a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his midsection. 

The presence is gone, and Dipper's knees give away; fortunately Mabel catches him before he hits the ground. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..." Dipper groans, hand still pressed against his forehead. The headache is evolving into a full on blast in his skull. "Just tired is all." 

"Come on, we need to get back." Mabel offers him her shoulder, supporting a good bit of weight as the twins head back in the direction he came from. "You shouldn't go off on your own right now. You might get hurt again."

"But..." Dipper chances a look back towards the unknown. The feeling of being only a fraction of himself has yet to subside, but he brushes it aside. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry."

"It's okay, Dip!" Mabel chirps, cheerful. " You can make it up to me. I made a smore dog for you!"

"Mabel? I am  _not_  eating that." 

Mabel's only response is a dark chuckle that's far more unnerving than whatever's hanging around in the woods. 

 


End file.
